


Mischief and Madness

by Isis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/M, Humor, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Shakespeare Pastiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-01
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two courting couples get mixed up when a mischievous spirit doses them with a potion meant for a jealous man's lover.  And yes, someone ends up with asses' ears.  A Potterverse version of Shakespeare's romantic comedy <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Classic Canon Challenge. 
> 
> Various additional (temporary) pairings, which you can probably guess if you know the play.
> 
> I have to admit that I sacrificed a lot of characterization in order to shoehorn in the plot, and a whole lot of lines are essentially cribbed from the original. Please forgive me. Also, the actual story (contained in the first chapter) is really only T-rated, but the optional smutty epilogue (which has nothing to do with Shakespeare) is E for explicit.

"May I have your attention please?" Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet as the dinner dishes disappeared from the long tables, and the students fell silent. He looked out at the upturned faces and smiled. "This has been a year to remember. A year which has seen our very own Harry Potter defeat Voldemort for a second time." The Great Hall erupted in cheers -- plus one audible snort from Professor Snape -- and he waited until the room quieted again before continuing.

"Over the next week many of you will be taking your OWLs or NEWTs. After that," he said, a twinkle in his eye, "I propose we hold a Leaver's Ball. All students fourth year and older may attend." More cheers, and a few groans. "It will be a time for us all to relax and celebrate together. Whether you are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, we are all -- Hogwarts!"

There was an echoing "Hogwarts!" from the students, as they rose to leave the room. At the Gryffindor table Ron Weasley put his arm around Hermione Granger, bending to whisper something in her ear. Albus frowned; he intended the Leaver's Ball to serve as a uniting force among the Hogwarts houses, to remind them that they were not so much Gryffindors or Slytherins as alumni of Great Britain's premier Wizarding school, and to that end...

"Miss Granger," he called out. "May I have a word with you? And Mr. Malfoy?" he added, pitching his voice so it could be heard over the hubbub. Draco Malfoy scowled as he turned, but clapped his friends on the back, obviously telling them to go on without him, then made his way to the head table.

Albus let his smile fade just a little as he looked at Ron, who had trailed behind Hermione; then he turned his attention to the other two. "I was hoping that our Head Boy and Head Girl would set an example of unity by attending the Leaver's Ball together."

All three of the students started talking at once, but fell silent when the headmaster raised one finger. "Draco? Will you escort Hermione to the Ball?"

A sullen expression crept across Draco's face. "I'm not going on a date with a....a Gryffindor," he finished. His mouth had looked as though it was going to form a different word, a word beginning with the letter M, but obviously he had thought better of it.

"The symbolism of a Slytherin escorting a Gryffindor will make a strong statement."

"I've already asked Hermione to be my partner," broke in Ron. "And she said yes." 

Albus favoured him with a chilly look over his spectacles. "In the interest of unity --"

"She's been my girlfriend since last summer," said Ron, a bit desperately. "We're getting married in August."

"I see." Turning his gaze on Hermione, he allowed a fatherly smile to cross his features. "You're a very bright witch, Hermione. Perhaps you should not make such an important decision at this young age."

Hermione's eyes flashed with anger. "I love Ron, and we're getting married this summer." 

"I'm not asking you to marry Draco. I'm only asking you to attend the Leaver's Ball with him." He spread his hands; surely she could see how reasonable a request this was. "He's a fine-looking young wizard, and I have it on good authority he's an excellent dancer. Anybody would be proud to have him as an escort."

"If you like him so much, Headmaster, you go to the Ball with him," said Ron, lifting his chin. "And I'll take Hermione."

"Not very respectful, are you, Weasley." Draco hadn't always been a model of respect either, but once it was clear that Voldemort was going to be defeated, he'd done the Slytherin thing and thrown in with the winning side. And Albus could see that the wheels were turning in Draco's head. He was clearly weighing the combined value of scoring points with the headmaster -- who was under consideration for Minister of Magic, and Draco, he knew, was planning a Ministry career -- and annoying two Gryffindors he didn't like very much, against having to spend one evening with a Muggleborn witch. Finally Draco said, "All right. You'd better have some decent dress robes, Granger."

"I refuse," said Hermione through clenched teeth. "Ron's just as fine-looking, and a lot more pleasant company."

"And I've been practicing my dancing," added Ron.

Albus sighed as he looked at the three of them. Too headstrong, too blinded by their youth to see the importance of his request. "My dear young people, do it for unity. Do it for Hogwarts." His mouth quirked. "Do it because I insist. Quite firmly." 

"But --"

"If you don't care enough about Hogwarts to attend the ball with Draco, perhaps you ought not attend at all. Please, think about it," he added, softening his words with a smile. A nod to them all, and he swept out of the room.

"Up to you, Mudblood," said Draco. His smile was as charming as ever, which meant Ron wanted very much to land a punch right in the middle of it. "Do let me know." And off he went as well.

Ron dared a glance at Hermione, who wore an expression that he was, unfortunately, all too familiar with. "I don't mind if you go with him," he said. "I know you love me, and that's all that matters."

"Maybe to you and me. But what if your family didn't approve of me because I'm Muggleborn?"

"What if yours didn't like me because we don't have much money?" he countered.

That got a smile out of her. "All right, I'm being silly."

"They love you, you know that. And they think we're a good match."

"At least somebody does." Her voice was bitter.

He bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "And I do, too. No matter what anyone else says."

* * *

As soon as they reached the common room that evening Hermione made a beeline for Harry. "You would not believe what Professor Dumbledore is forcing me to do."

Ron met Harry's eyes and shrugged. For all that Hermione was a brilliant witch to have at your back when facing Dark forces, she was still a girl, and sometimes she acted a little too -- girlish. "It's not so bad as all that. So we don't go to the Leaver's Ball."

"But it's our Ball! It's in honour of what Harry's done -- what we all did. You heard him: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. It's a celebration of Hogwarts, Ron. We can't not go."

"Then you're going to go with Malfoy?"

"I didn't say that," snapped Hermione.

"Malfoy?" said Harry, his face pale. "What's he got to do with -- you're going with Ron, right? And what's this about Dumbledore? What's Malfoy got to do with it?" His voice rose with every word; by the end he was practically shouting, and Seamus and Lavender, studying together in the corner, gave him a dirty look. He shot them an apologetic, nervous smile, then turned back to Hermione. "You can't go to the Ball with Malfoy."

"She's not --" started Ron, but Hermione cut him off.

"What is it, Harry?"

"What's what?" asked Ron, looking from one to the other.

"Quiet, you," she said, then turned back to Harry. "You look upset. Out with it."

Harry slumped back into the cushions. "Um. Well. It's all right. I was worried you were interested in Malfoy. Um, too."

"What?" said Ron, horrified. It just didn't make any sense. Harry being interested in blokes, that was one thing. That was all right; it didn't make him any less his friend. But being interested in Malfoy? That was impossible. "He's straight, anyhow. Isn't he?"

"Bisexual," said Harry, and blushed. Ron wondered how he knew. No, he didn't _want_ to know how he knew.

"Well, he's not bad-looking," said Hermione. "On the other hand, he's an obnoxious snob. But didn't you go out with him once?"

"You didn't!"

"I did. I thought I'd do some flying one morning before going to Hogsmeade, you know, practice with the Snitch a little. And he showed up on the pitch, and we did a little one-on-one, and it was -- it was fun." Ron pulled a face, as though to say that it wasn't possible to have _fun_ with _Malfoy_ , and Harry grinned. "No, really. It was exhilarating, flying together, and when we landed we talked about techniques and moves all the way to Hogsmeade, and then we went to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer and some crisps, and we were talking, you know, really having a good conversation..." His face fell. "And then his friends showed up, and he decided he couldn't be seen with me."

"Oh, Harry."

"Just as well," grumbled Ron. "You can't go to the ball with _Malfoy_."

"It doesn't matter. It's not as though he'd want to go with me."

"Have you asked him?" said Hermione, ever the practical one.

"It doesn't matter," repeated Harry. "The more I try to be friendly, the more he hates me. It's no use. Besides," he added, "you just told me you're going to the ball with him."

"She's not going with him!" exploded Ron.

Hermione put a hand on Ron's arm. "We'll work something out. We've got to." And then she gave Harry an impish glance. "And maybe you will too."

* * *

"Professor McGonagall!" Severus Snape did not run -- that would be undignified \-- but he strode quickly down the corridor, black robes swirling behind him, scattering students as he passed. "Professor, if you would?"

She finally stopped by a doorway and turned. "What is it?"

"A word in private?"

"Come, then." They continued down the corridor at a more sedate pace and did not speak until they were inside her office. She closed the door firmly, then turned to him, smiling. "Couldn't wait, could you," she murmured as she stepped close and kissed him.

It was a delightful kiss, as her kisses always were, and it nearly distracted him from his purpose. But when she stepped back and adjusted her hat, tilting it back into place, he squared his shoulders. He was not used to having to talk about...things like this. "Minerva," he began cautiously, "there is something I would like to ask you regarding the ball that the Headmaster is planning."

She sighed. "Yes, I know that you don't wish to attend, but I'm afraid we need all the staff to --"

He kissed her again, as through the years he'd found that was the best way of silencing her. When he drew away again, he shook his head. "You know me well, my dear, but not quite that well. I was hoping that we could attend the ball together." When she did not immediately respond he added, "Together, as a couple."

"Don't be absurd," she said, frowning. "You know perfectly well that we must not be seen to be a couple. In fact, you were the one who originally requested that we keep our relationship private."

"I had reasons, at the time. The reputation I had cultivated at Hogwarts. My role as a spy. My connections to the Dark -- to Voldemort."

"You also felt that it was inappropriate behaviour in a school, or so you told me."

Yes, he had said that. Damn. "I was simply supporting my position."

"Were you?" An eyebrow raised. "I wondered, you know, if you were just embarrassed about having an affair with an older woman."

"That's ridiculous." A sudden thought struck him, and he narrowed his eyes. "I see. Perhaps your reluctance to accompany me to the ball is because _you_ don't wish to be associated with _me_. I'm not exactly the most popular teacher here, and my past has, shall we say, marked me."

"Now you're the one being ridiculous," she said, but he thought he saw her eyes cut away from him, and he pounced.

"Perhaps you would rather accompany Albus. Is that it?"

"What -- jealous, Severus?"

Anger began to build in his belly. The Headmaster, for all his white beard, was still a man -- and a powerful, well-respected wizard. "I saw you together. You met him in the forest last month. And last week in Hogsmeade."

"Why, I --" She shook her head, apparently at a loss for words, then looked up at him. Her lips were no longer parted in welcome, as they had been when they had kissed, but narrow and pursed as though she had been sucking on a lemon. Finally she straightened. "If you persist in your childish games of jealousy, that kiss will have to last you a long time. Don't bother coming to my rooms tonight."

" _My_ childish games!"

"Out," she said firmly, opening the door and shooing him through, and he had no choice but to obey.

Fuming, Snape stalked down the stairs to his dungeon rooms, where he immediately began flinging open cupboards and cabinets, grabbing ingredients from the shelves and tossing them onto a work-table.

"Doesn't want to be seen with me, does she. Stupid bint. I'll show her," he muttered under his breath as he set a fire under a cauldron and began shredding delicate purple petals into tiny pieces.

"Poor old Sevvie, plays the heavy, his lady-love don't love him!"

Snape glared at Peeves. "Begone, you shrewd and knavish sprite."

"What, quoting Shakespeare at me? Silly Sevvie. Don't think I don't know what you're doing." The poltergeist waggled an ectoplasmic finger. "That's ashwinder eggshells, and that's love-in-idleness flower. You're making a love potion, aren't you."

"None of your business, Peeves. Get out of here."

"Maybe I will, and maybe I won't." 

"Either get out of here, or make yourself useful," said Snape, stirring the potion.

Peeves danced in the air in front of him. "I can tell you something that will amuse you."

"I'm in no mood to be amused."

"Oh, but this will make you forget your troubles! Potty Potter's got the hots, and you'll never never guess for whoooo!" Peeves twirled around giddily, nearly knocking over the cauldron.

"Why should I care who Potter fancies?" Snape asked, rescuing his potion just in time. "As long as it's not me," he added, shuddering.

"Oh, no no no! You'll never guess!" Peeves swooped low over the work-table and then zoomed out the door, cackling, "You'll see! You'll see!"

Snape rolled his eyes. Merlin save us from meddling poltergeists, he thought, as he got back to work on his potion. 

* * *

The next morning on his way to breakfast, Snape carried a vial of the potion he'd so carefully brewed. A drop in the eye, and Minerva would fall in love with the next -- creature -- she saw. Ecstatically, gleefully, publicly. Oh, yes, this would be a wonderful revenge.

As he headed toward the Great Hall a commotion outside caught his attention, and he went to the window. Unsurprisingly it was the Gryffindor troublemakers -- Weasley, Granger, and Potter -- heads together, conferring about some mischief, no doubt. Surreptitiously he eased the window open so he could overhear. Perhaps they'd say something incriminating that would allow him to take points; Slytherin needed only a small edge to overtake Gryffindor for the House Cup.

They fell silent as soon as the window was open, though, and at first he thought they'd seen or heard him. But then Harry said, "Er...Malfoy?" in a cracking voice, and looking toward the castle steps Snape saw Draco Malfoy with his usual companions, Crabbe and Goyle.

"What is it, Potter?"

"Can we talk a moment? In private?"

Draco gave him a pointed look, and Harry said something to his friends, who moved away from him slightly. "See? In private. Over here," he added, and stepped toward the castle wall, under the window where Snape lurked.

"Keep an eye out," Draco said to his friends, deep suspicion lacing his voice. Then he walked to where Harry waited. "All right. I'm here; talk to me."

Snape heard an audible gulp. Then: "I was wonderingifyouwanttogototheball."

"If I want to what?"

"Go, er, you know. To the Leaver's Ball. With me."

Snape had to stifle a guffaw. Peeves had had it right; this was definitely amusing. From Draco's laugh, he found it amusing as well.

"I'm going with your friend Granger, or haven't you heard?"

"But you don't like her."

"I don't like you either. So go away, and quit following me."

"You certainly acted as though you liked me once. When we went flying together?" He sighed. "I wish I knew what went on in your head. You're a really interesting person."

"I'm not trying to interest _you_!"

"Doesn't matter. You're interesting anyway. You're a brilliant flyer and good at all sorts of magic -- 'spose that's why they made you Head Boy, huh? Good-looking and rich, and a Pureblood, of course. But sometimes I think you feel trapped by it all, by everybody's expectations. Like you've got to live up to what your family wants, and your friends, instead of what you want." He sounded earnest and desperate; behind the window, Snape smirked, imagining Harry's discomfort. The boy was truly pathetic at expressing himself, wasn't he? 

"Maybe if you didn't pay so much attention to what other people think, you'd be happier," Harry concluded.

"I'm perfectly happy now, thank you very much. Or rather, I would be perfectly happy if you'd just _leave me alone_!"

"Just give me a chance!" Snape dared a glance out the window at the two boys; Harry had a plaintive expression, like a spaniel who knows he's going to be kicked but still follows at his master's heels, while Draco lounged against the wall, a sly, scornful look on his face. No doubt, thought Snape, he was thinking of a way to make use of Harry's bizarre and ill-advised confession.

"Don't tempt me to hex you," said Draco. "You make me sick." As he turned to go back toward the door, Harry reached out to touch his arm; Draco drew his wand, shouting and backing away.

Exactly what happened next, Snape never quite could figure out. The other Gryffindors drew their wands, as did the Slytherins, and suddenly the air was thick with jinxes and curses. Ron Weasley's stunning spell sent Draco to the ground just before Crabbe disabled him with a Jelly-Legs Jinx; Hermione's hair turned green, Goyle sprouted donkey's ears, and Harry was whirling like a madman, sparks flying from the tip of his wand. 

Perhaps, thought Snape, it was time to intervene. Extending his wand through the open window, he cast a general sleeping charm -- just as Professor McGonagall rushed into the fray, no doubt with similar intentions. Every one of them immediately fell asleep, there on the lush green grass just outside the front door to the castle.

Snape sighed as he closed the window. So much for breakfast, he thought, as he went into the Great Hall. Filius Flitwick was already there; a quick conference, and he agreed to assist Snape in moving the combatants to the hospital wing.

"But surely we can simply waken Minerva?"

Snape shook his head. "We should allow Madam Pomfrey to sort things. Merlin only knows what hexes those wretches cast."

They laid the Slytherins in one set of beds, the Gryffindors in another, and put Minerva McGonagall between them at the very end of the room. "I appreciate your help," said Snape. "Go on back to breakfast -- I'll just tell Madam Pomfrey what happened."

As soon as Flitwick left, Snape pulled the vial of love potion from his pocket. "Ashamed to be seen with me, are you?" he murmured, squeezing a drop on each of Minerva's eyelids. He could not resist a smile as he surveyed the sleeping students, all looking somewhat the worse for the wear. "I cannot wait to see which of these vile creatures you take for your true love."

Slipping the potion back into his pocket, he left the room. But only two steps beyond the door, Peeves barrelled into him and knocked him over.

"Did you make her love you again?"

"Shut up, Peeves," he growled, dusting himself off and levering himself to his feet. 

"Sevvie's in lo-ove," chanted Peeves. He swooped close to Snape, knocking him back again. "Got any left? Oh, what fun it would be!"

"As though anybody would trust you with a love potion."

"Already did, already did!" he crowed triumphantly, holding aloft the vial. Snape made a half-hearted grab at it, but Peeves ducked out of the way. After a few tries it was clear he wasn't getting it back.

"Go to it, then," he said, inclining his head briefly to the poltergeist before continuing down the corridor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Peeves slipping into the infirmary. At any rate, there were only one or two doses left in the vial. And the results might be entertaining. As long as Peeves didn't use the stuff on him.

* * *

Harry was the first to awaken. Groggy and headachy, he looked around and discovered he was in the infirmary. Right. After seven years of Quidditch accidents and the occasional run-in with basilisks and evil wizards, he was not unaccustomed to finding himself there.

It was not so usual, though, for there to be so many others there as well. Was that Professor McGonagall, across the way? And -- he gulped -- Draco, and his henchmen. Right, they'd got into a scuffle. With Ron and Hermione, he remembered suddenly, and there they were as well, in the beds on each side of him. 

"Ron," he whispered. There was no response, so he sat up -- all his parts seemed to be in place, and nothing hurt -- and crossed over to Ron's bed. He looked relatively intact as well, so he put a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. "Ron. Did I get you hurt?"

Ron's eyes flew open and met his. "Does it matter? I'd walk through fire for you, you know that."

"Nah, I think you just walked through Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Ron sat up, frowning. "Where is that bastard? I'm going to kill him."

"No need to do that," said Harry, sitting on the edge of Ron's bed. He sighed. "But asking him out was obviously a dismal failure. You're lucky you've got Hermione."

"Hermione?"

He must have hit his head when he went down, Harry thought. "Um, yeah. Your girlfriend?"

He shook his head. "Don't call her that. Sure, we've spent a lot of time together, but that wasn't anything special. She's...well, she's a girl."

"I thought that was the idea."

"It was. I mean, when I was younger, that's what I wanted. But now..." He trailed off and gazed meaningfully into Harry's eyes. 

"But now what?" asked Harry, confused. What was Ron looking at him that way for? 

"Now all I want is you," said Ron, and kissed him.

Startled, Harry jumped back off Ron's bed. He'd gone mad; that last jinx must have really got him hard. Either that, or he was playing an extremely rude game. "Stop it!"

"Stop what? Come back and let me kiss you again."

"Stop taking the piss," said Harry, reprovingly. "I know you're not happy that I fancy Malfoy, but don't make fun of me like this."

"I'm not --"

"Oi!" At the noise, both boys looked up. Goyle was sitting up in his bed, fingering the donkey ears that still hung from the sides of his head. "Who did this?"

Harry started laughing. "Someone made an ass of you," said Ron, gleefully. 

"I'll make you a bloody mess," snarled Goyle, throwing back his covers and rolling out of his bed. "You wanna confess?"

"Why, Mr. Goyle!" The voice was familiar, but the trilling note to it most certainly was not. All three students turned to see Professor McGonagall, a most disconcerting smile on her face. "That was a lovely rhyme. You have quite the angelic voice."

"Professor? You all right?" said Goyle, uncertainly.

"Never better, my dear, never better. Especially now that I'm with you." She stretched and yawned, briefly, then slid out of the bed and walked up to Goyle, who appeared to be stunned as his teacher put her arms around him and nuzzled at his neck. "You gorgeous hunk of man-flesh, you. Let's go."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks of horror.

"Um, Professor? You were hit by a hex," said Harry cautiously. "Maybe you should wait for Madam Pomfrey. And, er, Goyle needs to do something about those ears \--"

"We are perfectly all right," she snapped. "It will be points from Gryffindor if you persist in bothering us. Now, then," she said to Goyle, her voice softening, "shall we off to breakfast, Gregory, my love?"

"Sure, ma'am." He looked just as confused as the rest of them, but he had enough wit to figure that playing along would at least earn him a passing mark in Transfiguration. Opening the door, he ushered her through, then shot one panicked glance at the other sleeping Slytherins before following her, his donkey ears swaying as he walked.

"Well," said Harry, after Goyle and Professor McGonagall were safely out of earshot. "That was weird."

Ron snickered. "That oaf is bad enough as he is. But those ears!" 

"And McGonagall going all moony over him, of all people!"

"I know!" Ron's face turned suddenly serious. "When there's a much more worthy person right here." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Not again, thought Harry, his heart sinking. "Oh, Christ, Ron, will you drop it? It's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny, I swear! I love you!"

Harry rolled his eyes. It was ludicrous -- or it would be, if it wasn't so horrible. "Yesterday you swore you loved Hermione. Obviously you were as sincere then as you are now."

"Harry, believe me. I was wrong, okay? I wasn't thinking. But now everything's clear: I love you, and that's all that matters."

"Except that I don't love you," Harry said, exasperated, and Ron's face fell. "I mean, I love you as a friend. You're practically like a brother. But I don't fancy you."

"No, you have the horrid taste to fancy Malfoy," Ron said, shuddering. "But he doesn't love you."

"Sorry, Weasel, but I'm afraid you're wrong." With a fluid motion, Draco rose from his bed and came over to the two boys. "Go back to your Mudblood," he said, dismissively. "Harry's mine."

Harry frowned. "Not ten minutes ago you said you didn't like me."

"Your eyes are the most perfect Slytherin green," said Draco, running an appraising finger down Harry's jawline. "And your hair makes such a perfect contrast to mine, doesn't it? We'll be a stunning couple at the Leaver's Ball. Have to get you a better dress robe, though. You can borrow my dark grey one."

"Oh, hell!" exploded Harry, pushing him away. Looking first at Ron, then at Draco, he shook his head, then sank heavily down onto one of the beds. "If I didn't know you two hated each other I'd think you were conspiring to drive me mad."

"Conspire, with a Weasley? Don't make me laugh."

Ron sounded equally outraged. "I'm your friend. He's a slimy Slytherin git. Come on, Harry, don't be a berk."

"You're both berks." Harry sighed and put his face in his hands. "Is this about my being gay? Because I thought you were all right with it, Ron. And don't worry, Malfoy, I'll leave you be. I'd rather have you hate me honestly than mock me like this."

"I'm not mocking you. And please, call me Draco," he added, sitting beside Harry. "The thought of you screaming, 'Harder, Malfoy', just doesn't sound right."

"That's for sure," said Ron, scowling.

"Oh, get lost, Weasel. See, your girlfriend's waking up. Go play with her."

Thankful for the excuse to get away from the two others, Harry stood abruptly and moved to Hermione's bedside. She was sitting up and rubbing her eyes; her hair still had a faint tinge of green, but it appeared to be fading fast. "Hermione! You're all right?"

"I think so," she said, slowly getting to her feet. "I don't remember quite what happened, though. Malfoy was about to hex you -- and then that goon went after Ron --" She stopped, looked around wildly. "Ron! Is he here? Is he all right?" 

"I'm fine," said Ron, stepping up behind Harry.

"Oh, thank God," she said, rushing over to embrace him. "I saw you go down and I just panicked. I was so worried about you."

Ron stiffly extracted himself from her arms. "I said, I'm fine."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as Hermione frowned. "I gather _you_ weren't worried about _me_."

"Oh, no," responded Ron cheerfully. "You can take care of yourself. I had to make sure Harry was okay."

"That Harry was okay," she echoed, her voice thin and brittle. "Not that I don't want Harry to be okay, but it would have been nice of you to have paid some attention to the one you supposedly love."

"That's what I did," said Ron, turning to put an arm around Harry, who wriggled away, fervently wishing the floor would open and swallow him up. No such luck; Hermione pounced on him next.

"Exactly what is going on here?"

"I wish I knew!" Harry tried to project all the sincerity he could, begging her with his eyes. "Ron's just teasing, right, mate? And I have no clue what Malfoy thinks he's doing."

"Malfoy," came the drawl behind him, "thinks he's trying to accept Harry's invitation to the Leaver's Ball. It's just that Harry hasn't worked it out yet."

"But that's what you wanted, isn't it?" Hermione said, shaking her head as though she were still a bit confused. Then she brightened, and took hold of Ron's arm again. "So then Ron and I can go together, after all! Professor Dumbledore will have to --" 

Her smile abruptly disappeared as Ron shook her off. "Will you just go away? I'm not going with you, I'm going with Harry."

"Now wait a minute," said Draco. "Harry asked me, not you."

"Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped. "Have you all gone mad?"

"That's what I've been trying to --"

"And you shut up, too," she said, turning to Harry. "I thought you were my friend."

"I am your --"

"Then what did you do to Ron?" She waved her arm in his direction, nearly clipping him in the stomach. "Just because you can't get a boyfriend doesn't mean you can take mine."

"I didn't!" He ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of what to say to calm her. "Don't get so emotional."

Her eyes flashed with cold fury, and he realized belatedly that was not at all the right thing to say. But she was already advancing on him like a harpy. "Don't get so emotional? Oh, now I see. You're putting me down because I'm a woman. Is that it? You think you can walk all over me because you're a man." The scorn in her voice on that last word was almost visible, and he winced.

"It's not like that! You don't understand --"

"Oh, because I'm a woman, of course I don't understand!"

"Look, you're just muddying things up."

"Muddying up! Now you're making fun because I'm a Muggle-born, is that it? I never thought you of all people would stoop to cheap racial slurs." She turned to glare at Ron. "Or that _you_ would just sit by while my so-called friend abused me so horribly." 

"Look," said Harry, "it's all a mistake. We can sort --"

"I'll sort you out," she snarled, drawing her wand.

Ron jumped in front of Harry, only to be knocked aside by Draco. "If anyone's to be his champion, it will be me."

"God, the lot of you are barking," said Harry, exasperated. He could feel his stomach gurgling; they'd missed breakfast, and it was probably already lunchtime. "Hex yourselves silly for all I care. I'm going to the Great Hall before we miss lunch, too."

As he opened the door, he heard a familiar voice. "Potty Potty Potter, leaving so soon?"

He looked up to see Peeves swinging from the chandelier. "What fun, what fun," chanted the poltergeist. "Everyone's just wild about Harry, Harry's wild about meeee!"

Ignoring him, Harry headed out of the hospital wing, resolutely not looking behind him. But the sounds of Ron, Hermione, and Draco squabbling, and Peeves cackling, trailed him all the way to the Great Hall. 

* * *

The giggling started at the Hufflepuff table. Louder and louder it became, spreading to the rest of the students, until finally Albus Dumbledore looked up.

"My, my," he said to Snape. "Minerva appears to have got herself a new boyfriend."

Snape permitted himself a tiny smile as he watched her approach the head table, clasping Gregory Goyle's arm as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. Long grey ears twitched back and forth on Goyle's head, occasionally brushing her face and causing her to burst into coy, girlish laughter.

"Dobby! Winky! Peasy!" called Professor McGonagall as she reached her accustomed spot at the table next to the headmaster. The house-elves appeared in an instant. "Dobby, bring a chair so my love can sit beside me. Winky, bring him savoury pastries, and sweets, and the finest ale the kitchens can provide."

"I'd just as soon have pumpkin juice," muttered Goyle.

"Peasy, fetch him pumpkin juice at once!"

The house-elves bowed and vanished; a chair appeared next to Professor McGonagall's own, and the table was soon spread with a remarkable variety of delicacies. "Sit next to me, my darling, and let me feed you."

"Shouldn't the boy be sitting with his own house?" Dumbledore asked her gently. "Slytherin, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Goyle, his mouth already stuffed with a plump sausage roll. He started to rise, but McGonagall put a hand on his shoulder. 

"He stays with me. Right, Gregory dear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and sat down again.

"How very odd," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, who was having some difficulty keeping his face perfectly composed. "And did you notice his ears?"

Snape nodded. Not trusting himself to speak, he busied himself with his food, although he couldn't help but sneak glances at the absurd spectacle on Dumbledore's other side. The students were obviously as amused as he; the normal chatter of the hall was laced with an undercurrent of whispering which broke out from time to time into quickly-stifled snickers.

Then the double doors opened and Harry stomped in. Behind him were Ron and Draco, still arguing at ever-higher volume, and behind them was Hermione, alternately sobbing and screaming, and over them all was the swooping, giggling, translucent figure of Peeves. All eyes -- including Snape's -- turned to watch.

"Give it a rest, will you?" called Harry over his shoulder. "God, I'm starving," he said, as he slid in beside Neville at the Gryffindor table.

"You heard him, Malfoy," said Ron, giving Draco a hard shove. "Go sit with your Slytherin friends."

"I'm not leaving Harry's side. Not with you around."

"Don't think you can sit with us." Ron's hand went to his wand, and Draco's did the same.

"Just try to stop me, Weasel. I'll hex you so hard --"

"No duelling in the Great Hall." Although the headmaster's voice seemed no louder than usual, it cut smoothly through their bickering, and both boys looked up. "It might spoil your appetite. Kindly save your dispute until after the pudding."

Chastened, Ron slid in beside Harry. Draco glared at Neville until he reluctantly edged over enough that he could sit on Harry's other side. Hermione frowned at them all for a moment, then went to the other end of the table where a group of third-years looked up at her in surprise as she shoved her way in among them.

Snape snorted and went back to his food. From the corner of his eye he saw Dumbledore watching him.

Finally the headmaster spoke. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with this?"

"I rather suspect Peeves," Snape replied smoothly.

"Quite a joke, I see. Peeves," called Dumbledore, "can you come here for a moment?"

The poltergeist, who had been hovering over the Gryffindor table and making rude remarks to Ron and Draco, fluttered in the direction of the head table. "Can I help you, Headmaster? Bothered by this ass?" He waved a translucent arm in the direction of Goyle, who was still munching his way through the platter in front of him, oblivious to the giggles and finger-pointing from the rest of the room.

"We seem to have quite a few unusual love affairs in the school today. Your doing?"

"Couldn't say! Of course, I can't brew love potions, can I, Headmaster?" With that, he swooped down, knocking over Snape's water glass, then zoomed off, cackling.

"A pity to have the students so distracted just before exams," mused Dumbledore. "I don't suppose you have the antidote at hand."

His voice sounded mild, but Snape knew there was steel behind it. Minerva would no doubt be mortified when he restored her to herself; if he was lucky, she'd realize that being the acknowledged romantic partner of a former Death Eater and most-hated schoolmaster would be a considerable step up from her current state. Sighing, he pulled the vial from his robes. "I suppose I can remove the imperfection from her eyes."

He stood and walked behind her chair, and she looked up in alarm. "Professor Snape -- what are you doing?"

"Nothing, my dear," he said. A single drop fell from his vial into each eye; she blinked, shook her head, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were as sharp and canny as before.

"Ah, it's you, Severus. I had the oddest vision." She snorted, a harsh laugh which Snape privately thought suited her more than her earlier coy giggles. "I thought I was in love with..." Her voice trailed off as she saw Goyle beside her. "Merlin's beard," she finished weakly.

"Ma'am?" said Goyle around a mouthful of cake.

"For heaven's sake. _Finite Incantatem_." Goyle's donkey-ears vanished, and he yelped with surprise. "Now go back to your table, lad."

"Can I take another cake?"

"You may take the whole platter if you just _go now_!"

Goyle mumbled his thanks, then grabbed the tray of food and slunk back to the Slytherin table amid general laughter and cheering. McGonagall slumped back in her chair. "Did I make a great fool of myself?" she asked, her voice weary.

"Oh, yes," said Snape. "But I adore you nonetheless." Lifting her out of her chair, he kissed her hard on the lips; the shocked silence that descended on the students was something to savour, he thought, as he returned to his seat.

Then a female voice, firm and clear, rang out above the general hubbub: "Accio antidote!" Snape's robes shifted to allow the small bottle to fly out, across the Great Hall; Peeves made a grab for it but missed, and it landed with a smack in Hermione's outstretched hand. Around the Gryffindor table she marched, right up to where Ron and Draco glared at each other over Harry's plate.

"Ron Weasley, you listen to me."

He turned his head and grimaced. "I told you, Hermione, I don't want you --" She squeezed a drop into each of his eyes, and he fell silent. "Hermione," he started again, and his tone was entirely different.

"It's all right, Ron. I know."

"Yeah," he said, voice full of pain. He leaned back against her and sighed. "Sorry about that, Harry."

"Then I win!" crowed Draco. "Told you, Weasel."

"If you're going to hang around with me, you'd better respect my friends," said Harry, studiously inspecting his fork.

Draco looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once, sharply, and lifted his head to meet Ron's eyes. "Harry and me, Weasley?"

Ron shrugged. "If that's what he wants."

"Then it's settled," said Draco, sounding pleased.

Hermione shook her head. "What about Professor Dumbledore? And the ball?"

"I can take care of that," said Harry, standing and pulling Draco to his feet. Together they advanced on the staff table. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Hmm?"

"Hermione told me that you wanted her to go to the ball with Draco to symbolize unity. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Well, I'm a Gryffindor as much as she is, and Draco is --" he looked over briefly, and Draco nodded, "-- my boyfriend. So can we be your symbols instead?"

The headmaster chuckled, regarding them over his half-moon glasses. "I suppose," he said gravely, "your relationship is an even more symbolic, er, symbol. I see no reason why you shouldn't attend together."

"Then Hermione can go with Ron?"

"Of course," said Dumbledore, and behind them the Gryffindor table cheered as Ron rose to kiss Hermione. Then the entire room erupted in cheers and giggles as Draco threw his arms around Harry and kissed him as well.

"What was that about?" murmured Harry.

"Don't see why they should have all the fun," said Draco, and kissed him again.

Just then the double doors swung open again, and Vincent Crabbe staggered in, bleary-eyed and yawning as though he'd just woken up. "I haven't missed lunch, have I?"

"Just in time," said Goyle, shifting over to make room for him. After one confused glance over toward the head of the room where Draco and Harry were still locked in an embrace, Crabbe shrugged and plopped down beside Goyle.

"Gregory," he said in a low voice, "you are not gonna believe this dream I had..."

If these shadows have offended,  
Think but this, and all is mended,  
That you have but slumber'd here  
While these visions did appear.  
And this weak and idle theme,  
No more yielding but a dream.


	2. Gratuitous smutty epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I feel vaguely guilty about love-potion-induced relationships (although re-reading it now, my solution seems kind of creepy). And also, I wanted to write smut.

"Here," said Harry, sounding a bit anxious as he thrust a cup of punch into Draco's hands. "Are you sure you don't want to dance again?"

Draco did, actually, but after their first dance he had realized quickly that Harry's talents as an athlete did not extend to dancing. So he merely waved a hand in the general direction of the dance floor and said, "Too crowded." Besides, he thought, there were other things they could be doing. Things he'd rather not do on the very public dance floor, under the fairy lights and streamers in the colours of all four of the Hogwarts houses.

Yes, there were things he had wanted to do ever since he had discovered that, astonishingly enough, he had fallen in love with Harry Potter. But what with sitting NEWTS, they'd hardly got a chance to spend time together over the past week; and before they could move to London together (and they were going to move to London together, even if Harry didn't know that yet) they'd have to spend some time separately with their own families. So this was their last chance to do those things for some time.

So Draco drained his punch, set down his cup, put his arm around Harry, and whispered, "Let's go outside."

The evening was warm and fragrant with the blossoms of late spring, and it was clear that other students had the same idea. Most benches already held kissing couples, and the first few niches behind bushes were occupied as well. Finally they found a private corner of the castle wall, hidden by a stone column, and Draco stepped against the wall and pulled Harry to him.

Ah, bliss. Harry's mouth tasted of the punch they'd both been drinking; Draco made sure to test every bit, sliding his tongue over teeth and palate and just behind the lower lip. When he flicked the very tip of his tongue against the corner of Harry's mouth, sucking his lip into his own mouth just a fraction, Harry made such a delightful little moan that Draco decided he had to do it again. And again. Then Harry did it to him while running his hands across Draco's back, and Draco found out exactly why Harry had made that noise and matched it with his own.

It was time to up the stakes. His fingers knew exactly where to find the fastenings on Harry's robe, since after all it was one of his, borrowed (at his insistence) for the occasion. A few twists of his fingers, and the robe hung open, allowing his hands access to the enticing body inside. He was pleased to discover that, as instructed, Harry had worn no t-shirt underneath; he was less pleased to discover Harry's underwear.

"What kind of pants are these for a wizard?" he murmured into Harry's ear, pulling at the waistband of the offending garment with a finger.

"What's wrong with Marks and Sparks?"

"They're Muggle pants, that's what's wrong."

"You can't want me to wear those bloomer things that Neville wears!"

He made a face. "I _don't_ want to know about Neville's underwear. But really, they're very nice. Especially in Irish linen." Smiling, he undid the clasps on his own robe; pushing aside the cloth, he pressed his body against Harry's so their bare chests rubbed nicely together. Skin on skin at last -- one of his favourite sensations. Slowly he moved one of his legs against Harry's so that he would feel the soft fabric of Draco's braies tease at the hair on his thighs. "So much nicer than that horrid coarse cotton, don't you think?"

"They look like knickers," muttered Harry, but it obviously didn't deter his cock; Draco could feel it nudging at his hip like an insistent kneazle.

"Much more comfortable than those things you have on," said Draco, slipping a hand beneath the waistband of those things and earning a gasp from Harry. "Why, you've got no room in there at all. Better take them off." As he eased them down he kept one hand on Harry's hot erection, lazily running his fingers along its length.

"Oh! That's -- oh, very, ah!"

"'Very nice', I think is what you were trying to say." And it was indeed very nice to touch Harry so intimately, to skate a curved palm along the shaft of his cock. Was it coincidence that it fit so perfectly into his hand, that it felt so natural to caress? He snaked his other hand inside Harry's robe to cup his arse, bent his lips to Harry's neck, which stretched and turned to allow him more skin to taste. "Very nice."

"What if someone sees us?"

"Nobody's coming looking."

"What about Snape?" persisted Harry. Draco lifted his head from the delicious hollow by his collarbone that he had been exploring, and sighed.

"Professor Snape's not going to come looking. He's too busy doing the same thing with McGonagall over by the lake."

"Ugh," said Harry, pushing him away slightly. "That's an image to kill anybody's romantic mood."

"Then I'd best bring it back," said Draco, and dropped to his knees. Harry's cock felt even lovelier in his mouth than it did in his hands, he thought, smooth and heavy and hot. He gave it a long, slow lick, then nibbled from the head down to the musky thatch at its base.

"God, Draco! Oh no, oh God, you can't, oh!"

Oh yes, he thought, giving the soft skin of Harry's ball sac one last lick before moving back to engulf as much of the shaft as he could take in his mouth. The protests above him swiftly turned to incoherent babble that washed over him like a fall of rose petals, moans and pleas that he didn't need to understand but that filled him with joy all the same. _He_ was making Harry make these sounds, making Harry tremble against him and thrust his hips and grasp at his hair with desperate fingers, and when Harry made a final strangled cry and came, Draco swallowed it down with joy.

It tasted terrible, but he supposed he'd become accustomed to it. Because he definitely wanted to see this expression on Harry's face again, full of wonder and love and satiation and -- distress?

"All right, there?" He tried to kiss Harry but was firmly held away.

"Draco, are you happy? I mean, with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "What do you think? That I sucked you off because I hate you?" Harry's face closed even more, and Draco sighed. "I love you, Harry. Can't you tell?"

Harry slumped against the wall. "But it's fake. It's all fake."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not really in love with me. It's that stupid potion of Snape's. It's all fake."

"You really are an idiot," Draco said affectionately, leaning against the wall next to Harry. "Did you honestly think that stuff would be permanent?"

Harry gaped like a fish at him. "It's not?"

"After Granger used up the antidote on her boyfriend, I went to Professor Snape and begged him to make more. He told me it would wear off in three or four days."

"If it wore off, then how come you're still acting like this?"

"Because I love you, you git." He kissed Harry on the cheek. "You were right; that day we went flying together was brilliant, and it was just because I was too concerned with what my friends would say that I acted the way I did. But after that kiss in the Great Hall -- also quite brilliant, I assure you -- I suppose it's a bit silly of me to worry about that anymore, isn't it."

There was a desperate hope in Harry's eyes. "So this is real, then?"

"This," said Draco, kissing Harry again, "is definitely real. And so, may I add, is this," he said, placing Harry's hand on his cloth-covered erection.

"Oh," said Harry. He began to smile. "In that case." His hand moved back and forth, and Draco groaned at the feel of fine linen and warmth.

"Maybe," he gasped, "you should -- oh!"

"Should what? Faster?" The hand sped up, and he groaned. "Harder?" Fingers curled more tightly around his cock. Harry nuzzled close against Draco inside the tent formed by their open robes, licking at his naked chest, lips closing around a nipple. He felt teeth just barely pressing into his skin, and he gasped again.

"Skin," panted Draco, "please..." He was going to come in his pants and they would be ruined, and they were his favourite pair, such a lovely texture rubbing on his cock, such fine soft fabric whispering across his bollocks with every stroke of Harry's hand, Harry's hand on his cock, squeezing and stroking and oh oh oh --

Well, he could buy another pair in Diagon Alley.

Harry was whispering to him, still gently stroking him, pulling off his braies, murmuring something about them both having to be bare under their robes now. "Let me," he was saying, as he used those ridiculous underpants of his to clean the mess off Draco's thighs and groin.

Draco leaned back into the wall and let himself be taken care of. By Harry, he thought happily, feeling his heart swell with joy again. He'd felt the slightest twinge of conscience when he had lied, but now he was completely sure that it had been the right thing to do. Harry loved him, and he loved Harry, and it didn't matter that it was due to a potion, because it was real to him. 

Loving and being loved -- it was the most remarkable feeling in the world, and he'd be mad to take an antidote and give it up. It was just like a dream come true.


End file.
